BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (14 page)

‘From what you’ve said and from what Judith told you, I would try the mother. She must be missing her daughter, whatever her religion and those men dictate. She will dream about her and think of her and wonder what is happening in her life. Her heart will be full of hidden sorrow. She will be the weak link, I’d guarantee it. Also, surely she should know she has a grandson? How can people be so cruel, rejecting their own flesh and blood? I am so lucky. My mother emails me every week telling me she loves me.’

He held her close, breathing in the biscuit scent of her hair. She was lucky, having a mother around to tell her she was loved. He appreciated that she had the wisdom to understand her good fortune.

Chapter 11

Swift recalled that Judith Saltby had said her mother worked at a solicitor’s. He didn’t want to ring her for more information and resurrect old ghosts, or at least not until he had good reason to. He reckoned that the women of The Select Flock wouldn’t be allowed to travel far from home. He googled solicitors around the area and struck lucky on the website of the fifth, Pond and Reynolds. He clicked the
Our Team
button and saw that Dorcas Saltby was in charge of office administration. He assumed she must have a lunch break. He was in no doubt that she wouldn’t be allowed to enter the flesh-pots of local cafes but would eat home-made sandwiches in the office. He hoped she would step out for some air or shopping, so the following morning he headed to the premises in Cedric’s car. He parked in a side street, feeding a meter with an alarming number of coins. At eleven forty-five he walked past the large office. It had one of those plate-glass windows that allows a good view of the staff inside. Swift spotted Dorcas behind a desk, her scarf in place. There was a post office across the road. He stood in the doorway, out of the sharp wind.

Dorcas came out of the office at twelve fifteen, wearing a shapeless chocolate-coloured raincoat and carrying a hessian shopping bag. She started to walk slowly along the pavement towards a parade of small shops, her head down. Swift crossed the road and fell into step beside her.

‘Mrs Saltby? Please don’t be alarmed. I visited Hope Chapel last Sunday. You may remember me.’

She stopped and looked at him. There was a thin line of salt and pepper hair visible beneath her scarf. She had a sallow face with a large mole on her top lip. When she spoke her breath carried a sour scent.

‘Yes, I saw you. You offered to help with the wheelchair.’

‘My name is Tyrone Swift. I wondered if I could speak to you. Just a few minutes of your time.’

She touched her chin with a gloved finger. Her voice was just above a whisper. ‘You speak to the pastor if you want to attend chapel.’

‘It’s not about the chapel.’

She glanced around and moved away, shaking her head. ‘I can’t speak to you. I’m busy now.’

He moved beside her. ‘It would really help if I could talk to you.’

She walked on, head down. He could barely hear her. ‘Speak to Joshua Saltby, the pastor.’

‘I have spoken to him. Mrs Saltby, I saw Judith recently. She has a baby.’

She stopped, head still down. Her fingers gripped the shopping bag in front of her. Her hands shook.

‘I’ve come here, not to your home because I know this is difficult. Please speak to me.’

She looked around again, blinking. This is what it must be like to worry about surveillance by the secret police, Swift thought, recalling the motto of the KGB
: Loyalty to the party. Loyalty to the motherland
.

‘Judith?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. My car’s just up here. We could sit in it for five minutes. That would be safe for you, no one would see us. Five minutes is all I ask.’

She stood, swaying slightly, then nodded. He led the way to the car and she sat beside him, still gripping the bag tightly on her lap with one hand, the other on the door handle. She looked around again, slumping down in the seat. He could feel tension radiating from her and hoped he could find words that wouldn’t make her bolt.

‘I met Judith. She is married and has a baby called Samuel. They’re both well.’

She kept her head lowered. ‘Is she in London?’

‘No. I don’t want to say where she is just now. I met her because I wanted to talk to her about Teddy Bartlett, a boy she was friends with at school. He was attacked fifteen years ago. His father has asked me to find the person who carried out the attack. This is Teddy.’ He placed the photograph on her lap. ‘Did you know him?’

She shook her head. Her fingers trembled on the door handle.

‘Teddy doesn’t look like that nowadays. He’s blind and severely disabled, living in a care home. Judith told me she used to bring Teddy home after school sometimes, when you and your husband and Joshua were out. I asked Joshua about Teddy. He said he didn’t know him. Do you think your husband knew him?’

He saw her mouth working. She glanced at him sideways. He wasn’t sure what he could see in her eyes, maybe despair, but also a furtive look.

‘We don’t know him. Please, leave us alone.’

‘I’m not sure I believe that, Mrs Saltby. I know that your family would have been very angry if Teddy’s visits had been discovered. I think someone in the family might have wanted to stop Teddy because he was leading your daughter astray, away from the righteous path. The irony is that she left you anyway.’

She looked at him fully then, running her tongue over dry lips. ‘You are a cruel man.’

‘I don’t think so. I think whoever put Teddy in a care home is cruel.’

‘I have to go.’ She depressed the door handle.

‘Okay, you go. Judith misses you. Here’s my card. You might want to contact me.’

He put it into her hand. She didn’t reject it. He watched in the mirror as she scurried away. She was a mouse-like creature, with her drab browns and timid movements, but her eyes held knowledge from a world beyond the confines of her controlled life. He sat, thinking about her. She held down a job, so she must have some abilities. She wasn’t just Dorcas Saltby, downtrodden wife and mother. In a solicitor’s office, she would hear about all kinds of disputes and unpleasantness. She would know that other lives were messy and unpredictable. Were the mother and son involved together in the attack on Teddy?

* * *

In the afternoon Swift was out on the river at Putney. He was still adjusting to his borrowed craft. His insurance claim was in progress but he was going to have to wait a couple of weeks for his new boat. The sun was shining through a light mist but there was a distinct wind chill and he was glad he had brought an extra fleece. He could see the majestic mirrored buildings of the City, beyond Putney Bridge. Buses in the distance looked tiny. Birds were busy, swooping and diving across the water, filling the air with their calls. He had passed the stone which marks the start of the Oxford and Cambridge University boat race and sculled steadily. His purpose was to exercise his wounded arm and put it to the test while allowing his mind to ponder the information he had on Teddy Bartlett. His arm was behaving, it was his thigh that started to play up, his old scar tissue tightening. He steered in by the river bank and massaged it, watching a pair of swans grooming themselves. His thoughts went back to the Saltbys, and Teddy’s visits to the Internet café. The possibility of a connection niggled at him. As one of the swans extended its wings and shook them vigorously, a potential line of enquiry occurred to him. He found his phone and rang Mark Gill, a friend and ex-colleague who still worked in the Met, in digital investigations. He and Mark shared an interest in pulp fiction and they briefly discussed their latest reading. They exchanged some other news and Swift explained he was interested in an Internet café called Cyberia.

‘Do you remember that guy we worked with on the Villiers case about twelve years ago? He was a computer specialist when the role was still being developed. He was annoyingly geeky but had amazing recall, never forgot a face or name. He used to get irritated when we didn’t understand his tech-speak. I remember talking to him once and he said he got into computers really young and he was delighted when Internet cafes opened in London. Ian . . . ?’

‘Ian Wareham. He wore a tie with a keyboard design on it. He works in fraud now. I can find you his number if you want to speak to him.’

‘Please.’

Mark gave him the number. They agreed to meet for a drink soon. Swift phoned Ian Wareham who answered immediately.

‘Yep?’

Swift recalled Ian had always been succinct. ‘Ian, hi. It’s Tyrone Swift here. I used to be in the Met. Mark Gill gave me your number. We worked together once, on the Villiers case.’

‘Yep, I remember.’

‘I’m a private investigator now.’

‘Cool, yep.’

‘I’ve got some information concerning a case I’m working on. It’s about an Internet Café in Fitzrovia called Cyberia. I wondered if you knew it.’ He could hear that Wareham was typing fast as they spoke, fingers rattling a keyboard.

‘It’s closed now.’

‘Did you use it?’

‘Yep. I kind of almost lived there. It was the first Internet café in London. Terrific place. Rock stars used to go there, Bowie, Jagger. Quite a buzz.’

‘What years would we be talking?’

‘I found it in 1995, a year after it opened and used it till around 2004. From 1997 I used to run courses for Internet virgins.’

‘Do the names Teddy Bartlett and Joshua Saltby ring any bells? Teddy definitely went to Cyberia and Joshua might have.’

‘Don’t think so but you know, it was a busy place, people came and went. Names weren’t important.’

‘Could you take a look at their photos for me? I can scan you one of Teddy. If you look at a website for a church called The Select Flock, then follow a link to Hope Chapel in Tufnell Park, there’s a photo of Joshua Saltby.’

‘The Select Flock?’

‘Yes, it’s a church. Saltby is the pastor.’

‘Okay. Yep, can do.’

‘Terrific. I’ll email you.’

It was wonderful dealing with someone who didn’t waste words. He turned the boat and headed back to Hammersmith, feeling energised. Within ten minutes of scanning Teddy’s photo, Swift received an email from Wareham:

I remember Saltby. Can’t say from when. I helped him with password access one day. He badly needed the help but seemed to resent it. Don’t recall Bartlett.

Cheers, IW.

Swift sat back in his chair. He had something tangible at last. Saltby had been a devout young man, according to his sister, so devout he had been promoted to church pastor. Yet he had strayed far from the strictures of home and church. His presence at Cyberia was astonishing and had to be connected to Teddy. Time for another visit to chapel.

* * *

Hope Chapel was even chillier that Wednesday evening. Late autumn was growing colder and overnight frost had been forecast. Swift walked up and down for a while, then braved one of the hard chairs in the back row, waiting for bible class to finish. The man in the dark grey suit who had given him a hymnal on his previous visit was watching him warily. He had approached Swift when he arrived.

‘Does the pastor take bible class at this time?’ Swift had asked.

‘That’s right. Class is held in the study room.’ He gestured to the small room at the front of the chapel. ‘You’re late, I’m afraid, and the pastor doesn’t like interruptions.’ He had a scrawny build yet his suit was a little tight for him, straining on the shoulders.

‘That’s okay, I don’t want to attend class. I want to speak to Mr Saltby. I’ll wait here.’

‘I see. Can I help you? Is it concerning the church?’

‘Well, Mr . . . I don’t know your name. Mine is Tyrone Swift. I’m a private detective, here on business.’

There was a pause, a quick purse of the lips. ‘My name is Graham Manchester. You have business with Mr Saltby?’

‘That’s right. It’s about someone his family used to know, someone who was attacked some time ago.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Interest flickered behind his eyes.

‘Are you his deputy?’

He straightened, asserting himself. ‘I am the assistant pastor, yes.’

‘I suppose you know the Saltby family well.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve known them a long time. Who is this person you referred to who was attacked?’

‘His name is Teddy Bartlett. Judith Saltby knew him well. They were good friends.’

‘Judith Saltby has been gone from us for many years. I’ve never heard of this person. I must get on with my tasks now. Class will finish in fifteen minutes.’

Swift read his newspaper while Manchester busied himself with tidying. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. After a while a group of young boys exited the class and filed in silence down the chapel, eyes to the floor. They held their bibles against their chests in both hands. Swift rose and walked to the front as the last boy left the study room. Saltby was standing just inside the door, buttoning his suit jacket. He frowned when he saw Swift, stepped forward and glanced down the chapel. Manchester was observing them. He retreated through the door.

‘I have nothing more to say to you. Please leave this chapel.’

‘I think you do have things to tell me. I know you do.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m going to see you off the premises.’

Swift took a step towards him. ‘Cyberia,’ he said softly, ‘and I don’t mean the place in Russia. A café called Cyberia.’

Saltby blinked and touched his throat. A lovely tell, signalling discomfort.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll show you out.’

Swift shook his head. ‘Mr Manchester is more welcoming. He said he’s known your family a long time. Shall we ask him to join us? Maybe he knows you used to go to Cyberia and that you met Teddy Bartlett there.’

Saltby stared at him, panic flitting across his face. He was weighing up fight or flight. Swift put his hands out, palms raised, a gesture of appeasement.